


Crosshairs: Targetmaster Down

by RodimusDoctor



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Transformers: Age of Extinction (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RodimusDoctor/pseuds/RodimusDoctor
Summary: The Targetmasters have been summoned to Earth by Optimus Prime. While making planetfall, a squadron of military drones attack and separate Crosshairs from the others. As he lands, Crosshairs sees his fellow Targetmasters taken out by Decepticon fliers, leaving only him to deal with the situation. And he can't wait to get shootin'!





	1. Mexican Planetfall

**Author's Note:**

> This is another pre-Age of Extinction story, and takes place in the same fictional universe as my Merc vs. Metal series. It's not officially part of the series because Deadpool isn't in it, but it does tie into upcoming installments in that series.

I’m Crosshairs, and I’m a Targetmaster. There used to be a whole lot of us. But then there used to be a whole lot of Autobots.

Trouble was brewing on planet Earth, one of the last refuges for our kind that we hadn’t completely screwed up yet. I’d heard we’d had good relations with this world’s dominant species - had being the operative term. Seems they’re hunting us now, yet for some reason that I can’t fathom Optimus Prime has told us hands off. In other words, they can shoot at me but I can’t shoot at them! I think someone’s got a few wires crossed.

But more about me. Summoned to this rock because something’s going down - one of the old legends or prophecies or legendary prophecies is coming true, and Prime needs firepower. And when someone needs firepower, they need me.

And the other Targetmasters too, of course.

Blurr, as usual, ran on ahead. Now we’ve lost contact with the idiot. Hot Rod quit to do his own thing ages ago, Kup retired, and Scoop started a cult based on the resurrection of Starscream the Chosen One! Idiot. That leaves our squad commander Pointblank, Sureshot, Quickmix, Landfill and Hound.

And yours truly.

We fell through the atmosphere in planetfall mode within a couple of miles of a place called Chichen Itza, in the country of Mexico. Finding local camouflage looked problematic - mostly organic lifeforms below, none of them a compatible match for me. There were a very few roads - hopefully an interesting vehicle would come my way.

Several did, but not on the roads. Instead, a squadron of fliers came in on an attack vector. Naturally I was the first to spot them, and I had a response all ready. In a flash I’d transformed to battle mode, a gun in each hand. I filled the air with chaff just as the hostiles launched missiles, and not a single piece of their ordnance got through.

“Crosshairs, do not engage!” Pointblank shouted over the comm. “We have orders not to harm humans.”

“Sir, no life signs detected,” said Sureshot.

“Then they’re all mine!” I said, and I altered my descent vector a tad. All three lifeless machines altered course to intercept me, and opened fire with projectile weaponry.

Not fast enough. I pulled a signature move, ejecting two parachutes behind me and then opening fire with both barrels. The hostiles couldn’t compensate in time and flew under me, right through my field of fire.

Three targets down, easy.

“Hello, Mama!” I said. I have no idea what it means, but it’s some kind of slang I found on the World Wide Web and I like the way it sounds.

“Crosshairs! I ordered... oh, what’s the use?” Pointblank said. He might’ve said more, but that’s when he made planetfall. The others hit shortly after, leaving me as the only one left in the sky.  
My own fault. That’s what happens when you use chutes. Still, I’d only be about a minute behind the others. Except... they’d travelled a lot further forward than I had. Too late to worry about that now, I thought, and I steered myself toward that road I’d spotted earlier. I could use that road and drive to the others’ location in no time. Might even find an acceptable Earth mode along the way!

I’d nearly touched down when the real attack began. Not by ineffectual human-built crap, either. Three cybertronian fliers streaked across the horizon and strafed the ground where my pals had landed.

Three very familiar cybertronian fliers: Slugslinger, Triggerhappy and Misfire. What were they doing here? Well, apart from the obvious. Which was killing my fellow Targetmasters. I’d seen very little retaliatory fire from the ground - they’d been completely flat-footed. Those Decepticons had known exactly where we were comin’ down.

And I woulda been with ‘em, if those human-built things hadn’t come at us. Heh, and if I’d obeyed orders.

I transformed and made a bee-line for the battlezone. Nothing to scan yet; my cybertronian vehicle mode was a small crate transport truck with a flat bed, where I’d installed a turret. I kept my optics on the sky; the Decepticons were coming in for another pass. I was at my top speed, but there was no way I’d get there in time.

Triggerhappy and Misfire stayed the course, but Slugslinger peeled off.

And came at me.

To be continued...


	2. Shot to Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crosshairs, possibly the only surviving member of the Targetmasters, takes on Slugslinger, Triggerhappy and Misfire. Things don't go well. And then they get worse.

The Decepticon flier named Slugslinger flew toward me on an attack vector. I drove toward him in my vehicle mode, and waited for the perfect shot. Range wasn’t an issue, and neither was stopping power. 

Party time, I thought.

Slugslinger was no slouch, however - he would not be an easy target. If I let loose with a burst of fire, he could avoid it and take me out before I could re-acquire him. I had to wait until he was closer, but if I waited too long he’d open up with firepower that I’d be helpless to avoid. Therefore, I’d have to time this perfectly while also relying on instinct - predict when he’d shoot and get my shot in first.

A second before I took my shot, he did something unexpected. Slugslinger transformed, and dropped out of the air well under my line of fire. As he fell, he brandished a pair of blasters and opened up on me.

I didn’t react in time and took some hits to my chassy. My armour took the brunt of Slugslinger’s plasma blasts, and that’s what saved my spark. I felt bits blasting off me; I swerved to avoid the volley but only succeeded in flipping myself over.

This was bad, baby.

I was surprised, but I was also impressed. If I’d been a flier, that’s what I would have done.

I transformed, rolled and came up shooting. If the Slugger had stayed still, I would’ve aced him. But he didn’t; he’d side-stepped, and I shot nothing but air (well, maybe an earthen aviary creature).

“Good shot!” Slugslinger said, and he punted me in the face. He followed it up with another kick, this one in my midsection where I’d taken a hit. It hurt. A lot.

I suppose I should have been grateful he hadn’t just shot my spark out. That, and the fact his kick actually helped my next move. I rolled with the blow, flipped over and shot out my left arm, where I’d built in a Lectro-Sting. Not a very powerful weapon, but a hell of a distraction. Especially if you’re not expecting it.

And Slugger wasn’t. He yelped in a most satisfying way as he fell back, and very nearly dropped his plasma repeater. I had time to snatch up my own blasters, and gave him both barrels right in the chest. He has strong armour, but not near-point-blank-range-with-explosive-rounds strong. Slugslinger flew back, with big smoking holes in his chest. 

I felt pretty good about that, until Triggerhappy nearly killed me.

The most dangerous (and certainly the most nutzo) of the Decepticons is even more of a gun nut than I am. And almost as much as Hound is. In jet mode he has 12 blasters facing forward, and six pointing behind. Only way to deal with him is to get your shot in first. He gets the first shot, you’re dead. That many guns, he barely nees to aim.

I was still raising my blasters sky ward when his first shots hit. They flung me backward, and unlike Slugslinger I wasn’t able to hold on to my weapons. Partly because my left arm got blown off at the shoulder. I took hits all over - head, shoulders, torso, legs - and I knew I was a dead bot. I hit the ground amid a series of small explosions - shots that had ripped through me bursting in the dirt - and I waited for the hit that would kill me.

It never came. Triggerhappy flew over me, and didn’t even spray me with his rear guns. That’s one of his favourite maneuvers, blasting a victim coming and going. I heard him swearing...

And I knew what had happened. Triggerhappy’s main weakness is he just loves to keep shooting, right up until he runs out of ammo. He’d obviously used up most of it firing on my fellow Targetmasters. Ran his guns dry.

And if I hadn’t been in pieces, I might’ve taken advantage of the situation. As it was, I could barely move. I forced myself to crawl toward my blasters as Triggerhappy transformed and landed beside Slugslinger. Who was apparently still alive. And still had a full clip in his primary weapon. Triggerhappy picked it up and started walking toward me. He could shoot me anytime, so he was gonna wait until I’d almost got a hand on my guns.

I kept crawling anyway.

“I am so sick of you, Crosshairs,” Triggerhappy said. “I’m glad it’s me that gets to kill you. Just like your friends.”

That wasn’t good. Were the others all really dead?

I pulled myself the last distance. Everything hurt, but I didn’t let that stop me. I expected to be dead at any second. My fingers brushed my blaster’s barrel. Triggerhappy raised his gun...

And a plasma blast hit him in the right leg. A couple of other blasts hit the ground between me and him, and he swore and cursed the name of my saviour.

Misfire. The guy the term cannon fodder was created for, because that’s all he’s good for. Nobody remembers his real name, because it doesn’t matter. He’s Misfire, because he’s a terrible shot. No doubt he’d been aiming at me, and instead he hit everything but.

Not me, though. I grabbed my blaster and turned it on Triggerhappy. I was clumsy - full of holes and missing an arm - but I got a shot off that knocked the weapon out of the Decepticon’s hand. A perfect shot, except that I’d been aiming for his head.

Nevertheless, it was enough for Triggerhappy. He leapt into the air and transformed, then flew away before I could take another shot.

Misfire came in for another pass. I felt pretty safe, in spite of my condition, so I took my time aiming even after he’d opened fire. While his ammo blew up the dirt and plantlife around me, I waited for the right moment to put that loser Decepticon out of the universe’s misery.

Only the universe, it seemed, had other plans for him. The ground all around me caved in, and I fell into the planet. There was a splash, my head hit something, and I went offline.


	3. In The Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crosshairs comes back on-line to find himself in a stream at the bottom of a sinkhole. He's not alone, either - the Decepticon Slugslinger fell in with him. Both 'bots are badly bashed up, and something is coming... something that will make getting out of the hole the least of their worries!

When I came to, I was still in rough shape. Actually, that’s putting it mildly. Internal repairs had done their job, but that only covered the basics. My arm hadn’t grown back, for one thing.

I’d lost a third of my mass. That’s what happens when bits get blown off ya. I tried to move; it hurt like a muther, but I was mobile if I wanted to be. At that moment, no surprise, I didn’t really want to be. Duty overrules pain, Hound is fond of saying. I was not, but I knew my survival depended on my not being here when the other ‘cons get back.

And they would be back. Triggerhappy, for sure. He’ll want to finish me off.

I took in my surroundings - an underground cavern, illuminated by the many holes in the roof above. I was in a stream, surrounded by rubble from the ceiling that had fallen in with me. Most of my body was on a ledge, but my left leg was submerged in the water. Sparks shot out of the joint just above the surface - the liquid was not doing my repair process any favours.

I tried to move that leg and couldn’t. Apart from agonizing pain in the joint where it met my waist, I couldn’t feel anything at all. My right arm and leg worked, so I pulled myself away from the water’s edge. Then I simply rolled over. A motherlode of hurt, but I got my left leg free. I lay on my back, staring up at the hole I’d fallen through, and willed my energon to work faster.

There was a noise in the distance. Thumps. Like something big, walking.

Walking this way?

A much closer sound - rocks shifting - grabbed my attention. I turned my head in the direction of the sound, and noticed two important things.

One, Slugslinger wasn’t dead. Apparently he’d fallen down here with me. He’d landed on the other side of the cavern, and was now waking up.

Two, my left arm had landed in the stream between the two of us. With a blaster still gripped in the hand.

I lay still and ran a self-diagnostic. Wasn’t expecting miracles, but I hoped I was fixed enough to protect my circuits from shorting in the water. If I could get to my arm before the Slugger realized I was here, I could take him out.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, my diagnostic came back negative. If I went for a dip, my circuits would fry.

Slugslinger rose to his knees, then collapsed back on his face. I guess his injuries were more serious than he thought. It was now a race between his energon and mine, and the prize was my blaster. And staying alive.

I shut myself down and let my internal repairs do their work.

 

After a length of time I would come to call half an hour (human lingo is catchy), I came back online once more. Still hurt all over, but not as bad. I experimented, lifting my right arm, then both my legs. Yeah, I could move. Hello Mama, it hurt, but I could move.

I sat up. My arm was still in the stream where I’d last seen it. Slugslinger, however, had gained some mobility, too. He was looking at my arm.

Then he looked up and saw me.

“Still alive, then?” the Decepticon said. “Let me fix that for you.”

He made for the arm. I threw myself into the stream, and made my own play for my weapon. Most of my systems were impervious to the water now - most of them. So that little swim wasn’t the most painful experience of my life. But it cracked the top 20, easy.

I grabbed my arm by the elbow. Slugslinger, unfortunately, had grabbed my gun. We both pulled, and I got my whole left arm back. The blaster, however, stayed with him.

“Don’t move,” the Slugger said.

I stayed still, but I pressed my severed arm against my shoulder and let internal repairs begin reattaching it.

“What do you want?” I asked. Seemed a fair question. After all, he could have just shot me.

Then I noticed how bad he was shaking. There were sparks, too - he was in even worse shape, water-resistant-wise, than I was. The Slugger was in a world of pain - I could see it on his face.

“B...back up,” he said, and I backed out of the stream. He followed, eyes and blaster steady on me, but his legs looked ready to give out.

And that distant thumping sound, the one I’d noticed earlier, wasn’t nearly so distant. Impact tremors vibrated the water - whatever was making that sound was huge.

“You’re going to climb me out of here,” Slugslinger said, and he pointed at a wall in the cavern that went straight up to the hole in the ceiling.

“Is that right?” I replied. “What’s in it for me? Because the way I see it, you’ll kill me even if I do what you say.”

“But maybe I won’t,” the Slugger said. “And you’ll be alive all the time you’re climbing, which will give you hope. As long as there is life, you Autobots are fond of saying, there is hope.”

I thought up a thousand smarmy comebacks to that, but none of them were a smart thing to say to a ‘con with a gun. Especially since it was my gun.

“My arm needs time to reattach,” I told him.

“I know,” Slugslinger replied. “I can wait. See? That’s even more time you get to spend alive.”

We waited. I kept my right hand pressed to my left shoulder while my energon slowly fixed the joint. While we waited, the thumping noise grew louder still; the water rippled, and bits of dirt shook loose from the wall I had to scale.

One problem at a time, I told myself. I figured it would take at least half an hour before that arm was useful again. But Sluggy is a Decepticon, and he didn’t even give me half that.

“That’s enough, Crosshairs,” he said. “Time to climb. Turn around,” he said, and I did. 

Slugslinger reached his left arm under mine and up to my right shoulder, fingers digging into a wound I had there. He wrapped his legs around my waist and squeezed, then shoved the barrel of my blaster into a wound in my side. I roared in pain. Couldn’t help myself. Also couldn’t help but hear his snickering; his mouth was right next to my audio receptors.

“Did that hurt, tough bot?”

“Up your waste chute,” I replied. What? A bot can’t always have snappy rejoinders when he needs ‘em. But don’t tell Hound I said that. Or Sureshot.

I started to climb. It was steep but not insurmountable, but my left shoulder ached from the strain; if I’d had teeth I would’ve gritted them. Didn’t wanna give Slugger any more satisfaction.   
It would have been a lot easier if Point Blank had been with us. Among his assorted toys and weaponry, he’s got a grappling hook in his right arm. I did not, and he wasn’t here. It was just me, sluggy, and my aching left arm.

The thought occurred to me that, once I got high enough, I could just throw myself backward and crush him on impact. Trouble was, he’d probably get off a lot of shots as we fell. With my weapon jammed into my side the way it was, all of those shots would hit something vital. Slugslinger might - might - die on impact, but I would most definitely die well before then.

Of course, he was going to kill me anyway, as soon as I got him out of here. I needed a plan, and quick.

The thumping was close now. Clods of dirt rained down on us, and I had to fight to keep my hand and footholds.

“Why we stopping?” Slugslinger growled, shoving the gun further inside me.

“Aagh! Cut that out,” I said. “I can barely hold on.”

“You drop me, I drop you,” he replied. “Keep going.”

“This wall’s unstable!” I told him. “Any moment now...”

“Better climb faster, then.”

“My arm’s only just been reattached, for Primus’ sake!”

“Are you done?” Slugslinger said. “Always with the excuses, you Autobots! No wonder we won the war.”

“War’s not over yet,” I said.

“It is for you,” he told me. “As soon as we reach the top. How quick it is... hey!”

I’d stopped again. We were very near the top now, and he could probably make it the rest of the way himself. Now that he’d confirmed his plans for me, however, I had to make a stand.

“No, you’re doing this thing all wrong,” I said, turning my head to look at him. “You’re supposed to make with the fake promises, like if I do this you’ll let me go. Or you’ll give me a minute’s head start. Or you’ll take me prisoner, but you’ll give me a really nice cell, with its own oil bath. Stuff like that. But if I’m just going to die anyway...”

“As I was saying,” he jammed my gun into me again, “you can die quick, or you can die slow. Get me to the top, and I’ll kill you quick. That’s the only promise you’re going to get from me, fake or otherwise.”

“Which is it?” I asked. “A fake promise or otherwise?” I was stalling for time; the wall really was unstable. Every time one of those loud thumps (impact tremors?) sounded, more clods of dirt and stones shook loose and rained down on top of us. I figured it was only a matter of time before the wall itself crumbled and dropped us back down.

“Take a wild guess,” Slugslinger said. “Now get moving or get dead!” He couldn’t shove the gun any further into me, so he squeezed my right shoulder instead.

I grunted in pain, and prepared to throw myself backward. This was it, ladies and gentlemen. The last stand (or wall hang) for Crosshairs. It had been a blast, it really had. And I might just get to take one last Decepticon down (literally!) with me. I climbed a bit higher, almost to the top - more chance of killing him the higher we were.

Another thump. I lost my grip with my right hand as a chunk of the wall crumbled. We dangled by my left arm, and it hurt like hell. I could feel the recently knitted cables and wires ripping out, heard Slugslinger shouting at me to get moving, and I knew this was it.

And I decided not to give up just yet. My right hand was free, so I grabbed the blaster in my side and yanked it free of my wound.

Slugslinger started firing...

And then there was one final thump and the entire wall gave way. We fell all the way back down amid a ton of dirt and rock.

And I got a quick glimpse out of the hole. I saw a massive robotic creature, with a very long neck.

Then we hit bottom, and I was out of it once more.


	4. The Jaws of Slog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crosshairs wakes up - again - to find a giant long-necked robotic dinosaur digging him out of the sinkhole. Piloted by two agents of Cemetery Wind, they add their own agenda to the goings-on in Mexico. Can Crosshairs escape the beast and find what remains of his squad?
> 
> And, what is the parting gift Slugslinger has bequeathed to him...?

There was a lot of stuff on top of me. Most of it was rock. Heavy rock. Half the planet, and maybe a couple of moons. At least, that’s how it felt when I came back online for the third time that day.

More of the sinkhole wall had crumbled since the Slugger and I had fallen off. Digging out was going to be fun, I thought. The thick tang of energon surrounded me - someone had burst a spark casing. I was alive so it wasn’t me. Them’s the breaks, Slugslinger. Truth to tell, I’d much rather have killed him in a shootout. 

Still, I wasn’t complaining.

More memories swam into focus - that big robo beastie with the long neck. Likely it had been the source of the thumps. And the earth tremors. Was it still in the area? And what the slag was it? According to my scans of human records, creatures of that basic physical description hadn’t lived on this planet in nearly 70 million years.

There were no tremors. Either it had wandered off, or it was standing still right above me, waiting for me to dig myself out.

Turns out I was half right. The rubble on top of me shuddered, and suddenly most of it was gone, replaced by a massive set of jaws that clamped shut an inch from my chassy.

It was the long-necked giant, all right. Just reached its head into the sinkhole and grabbed a mouthful of debris. The right eye stayed on me while the head swung to the left and dumped its load into the stream where I’d reacquired my arm. Then it swung back toward me.

Had it been digging me out?

I tried to move but couldn’t; my body felt different, like I’d re-gained some of the mass I’d lost. Before I could figure it out the big head closed its jaws around me. The grip was none too gentle, but it could have bitten right through me if it had wanted to.

It lifted me, and there was some resistance. Like a big part of me was still buried. I looked beneath me and saw the smashed remains of Slugslinger, and the cables and cords connecting me to him. I also noticed two large flat pieces of him stuck on either side of me - his wings!

My internal repair system, in its efforts to fix me, had started using the Slugger’s body parts as a source of raw materials. Made sense - Slugslinger was clearly dead, and we’re both made of the same stuff. I’d heard Optimus Prime had done something similar with the body of an ancient Seeker.

Anyway, neat, but I had more immediate concerns. Like being in the mouth of a giant beast whose motives were less than clear. It lifted me up and out of the sinkhole, then held me aloft a hundred metres above the ground.

“Now that we have your attention, Autobot,” the monster said in a voice I wouldn’t have expected, “why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here?” I figured a loud and booming voice would come from this thing, but what I heard sounded like a much smaller creature speaking through a comm. system. The thing looked Cybertronian, but I figured one of those human things was the pilot.

“Who wants to know?” I replied. I wasn’t in a position to play it tough, which is usually when I play it tough. Or at least inpudent.

“This is Agent Monzo, Cemetary Wind,” the voice said. “You are an alien who is here illegally, which makes you an illegal alien!”

“Heh, an illegal alien in Mexico!” said another voice over the same comm. channel. Two pilots? Well, it was a big thing.

“Be quiet and stay focused,” said the first voice.

“I’m just sayin’ it’s funny,” said the second. “Or ironic. Is that irony? I can never tell.”

“Will you shut up, Brisko? We have a job to do.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I said, “but, while I’m grateful you blokes dug me out...”

“Why are you here, Autobot?” the voice of agent Monzo asked. “And where are the others? We detected four other energon signals, one of which destroyed several million dollars worth of US military equipment.”

I puzzled over that for a split second, and then I remembered the unmanned drones.

“We are well within our rights to terminate your life,” Monzo went on, “so start talking.”

I started talking. There didn’t seem to be any alternative. Not that it mattered if I told them we’d been summoned by our leader to add support to an ongoing crisis on their planet. You’d think they’d be grateful.

“You’d think you’d be grateful,” I finished. “I mean, we came here to help, and...”

“We don’t need your help!” Monzo said. “We can protect our own planet. You and your kind don’t belong here. Now we’re going to go find what’s left of your little invasion force, before we decide whether to take you in or just kill you here and now.”

“Now, now, let’s use words,” I said, even though I was done with words. I’d had about enough of those two idiots, and they’d told me all I needed to know, most of it silently. While talking, I’d tapped into the creature’s CPU; it was a cybertronian entity, all right - apparently its name had been Slog - but not one I’d heard of before. Brain was scrambled; probably couldn’t function without these humans to control it. Sad fate I wouldn’t wish on most enemies (that’s what my guns are for). Still, his fate was my trump card. These Cemetery Wind humans may have learned enough about cybertronian tech to operate one of us, but I was willing to bet they hadn’t locked all the back doors.

The great beast started walking, feet making that same thumping sound. I looked around (quite a good view that high up) and noticed the ground looked a lot more fragile than before. Sinkholes like the one Slugger and I had fallen into were everywhere, with more opening up every time the thing took a step. It made the going pretty difficult, avoiding all the holes the thing was creating.

Which meant the focus of those two soft-skinned losers wouldn’t be on me. I kept my optics open and waited for the right moment to open the mouth wide enough for me to escape. It would be a long drop, and I’d had it with long drops, but I had that part figured, too.

“A little more to the left,” Monzo said, presumably not to me. “You don’t want to get the leg stuck!”

“Calm down, Monzo, I got this,” Brisko replied. “You just keep your eyes on...”

“Gaah!” Monzo said suddenly. “That’s a mess. He ain’t walkin’ away from that.”

I looked around to see what he was talking about, and saw it immediately. There was Landfill, or what was left of him; his body parts were strewn all over the landscape. He was a big bot, and Triggerhappy had nailed him good. Poor guy.

The humans kept talking, calling my friend’s remains Christmas for R and D, whatever that meant. I figured it was disrespectful, but the important thing was they were distracted. I thought I saw another Autobot in a small trench not too far away, so the timing couldn’t have been better. I sent a mental command through my connection to Slog’s brain, and his jaws opened wide.

And I flew. Well, more like glided. Okay, it was falling... with style. Slugslinger’s wings gave me some control over the angle of my descent, allowing me to gain some distance from the Slog unit. At the right moment I popped my chutes, and landed with most of my dignity intact. And, more or less exactly where I wanted to be, next to the small trench.

Where I’d spotted Pointblank. I hurried over to him, and hoped to Primus I wasn’t too late.

I was. Blank was in a bad state; lost both legs, plasma burns and wounds all over his chest, half his face gone. Energon leaked from everywhere, especially the wound that revealed his dying spark. It was a miracle he was still alive, but it would take more than an act of Primus Himself to keep him that way.

A quick look around revealed even more dismal news. The aforementioned bits of Landfill. A headless corpse that I was sure was Quickmix. No sign of Hound or Sureshot - reason to hope?

Oh, and the Slog thing was closing. It still had to negotiate the minefield of sinkholes, but it kept coming. The soft-skinned wimps piloting it probably weren’t too happy with me. If they grabbed me again, the same trick of tapping into Slog’s brain might not work twice. Of course, I doubted they wanted to capture me at that point. Nah, they’d want to scrape me off of one of Slog’s feet.

I would not make it easy for them. Pointblank’s blaster lay nearby; I snatched it up and looked for a weak spot in the thing’s armour.  
“C...Crosshairs...”

I couldn’t believe it - Pointblank was out of stasis lock! He reached up a hand and I took it, and scanned his vitals once more. All levels still failing - he hadn’t long for this world. Or any other.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” I said.

“You... lie... about as well... as you obey orders,” he replied. I had to smile at that - he had me there. And I realized he wasn’t the clogged exhaust port I’d always taken him for.

“...took Hound and... Sureshot,” he went on.

“Who? Misfire and Triggerhappy?” I said. Couldn’t imagine them taking prisoners.

“New... players,” Pointblank said. “You... I...”

“You want me to go find ‘em?” I said. The ground was vibrating from the last footstep, which had been awful close.

“...want you to run away,” Pointblank said. “Forget... teammates...”

“Wha...?” I said.

“...go do... your own thing,” he said. “That... that’s... an order...” The remaining half of his face smiled. And he chuckled.

I did, too. Cheeky bastard.

“You know me well,” I said.

He chuckled some more. Then his spark went out. Just like that.

And a giant foot came down a few metres away, right onto Quickmix’s chasssy. Crushing it into the dirt. Slog was close enough now for me to see clearly that there were no weak spots on his armour at all.

The big head stared down at me, and the left leg came up and hovered above my head. The intention was clear.

I grabbed Pointblank’s remaining arm and tore it from the socket. What? He wasn’t using it any more. Besides, it was his right arm. The one with the grappling hook. 

It had just occurred to me... I had no idea who this ‘new player’ might be, but those two humans might.

And I was gonna ask ‘em. I raised the arm and fired the hook up into the creature’s face.

“Hello, Mama!” I said, and launched myself up off the ground toward it.

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my last Merc vs Metal story, it was mentioned that the Slog Unit "was heading for the growing situation in Chichen Itza" and was therefore unable to assist with the events at Xel-Ha. Now you know what Slog was up to.


	5. How Crosshairs Got His Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crosshairs faces off (almost literally) against Slog and his human pilots, Monzo and Brisko. He has a plan, and he's well armed. Get it? Well armed? Because he's using Pointblank's arm...? Yeah, I just can't resist the bad puns! And speaking of bad jokes, alert readers will notice a couple of spoilery spoilers in one of Crosshairs' comments near the end. Oh, and I explain about the coat.

I fired a grappling hook up into the face of a long-necked metal monstrosity bearing down on me, then pulled myself into the air towards it. In retrospect, that might not have been my smartest move. The humans piloting the thing swung the head side to side, trying to dislodge me. I held on tight to Pointblank’s arm as the grapple line retracted, but it was hopeless. I knew if I didn’t let go before the next swing, I’d lose my own arms.

Fortunately, I had wings. A parting gift from Slugslinger, so to speak. I also had my chutes. And a plan.

A plan that involved pulling the same trick twice, which I’d convinced myself would never work. For the first time in my life, I hoped I was wrong.

My own weapons systems were back online. Perfect. I produced a small grenade, and stuffed it into Pointblank’s hand.

The next swing reached the whiplash point and I let go. The force of the swing would have flung me at least a couple of kilometres; instead, I used the wings to curve myself back around.

Meanwhile, Pointblank’s grapple had retracted all the way, freed from my weight. It hung there from Slog’s face for a moment, and then my grenade went off. Not enough bang for serious structural damage, but more than enough to damage the optics. Which was a heck of a good distraction.

I glided around the Slog, getting lower and lower but also closer to the thing. It was hard work, and more than a little luck was involved, but I managed to fly in a near-complete circle that put me right over the beast’s back. My chutes deployed, and I landed where the spine met the neck.

I placed my hands on Slog’s skin and interfaced with his brain once again. I knew I didn’t have long to do this, so I set two programs to work simultaneously. One program probed the brain for information related to the humans’ mission, including any footage the eyes had taken in the last few hours. This would get noticed, and fast, which was why I had my other program loaded and ready to run the moment they cut me off.

The head reached around to face behind it, probably to use the other sensory input while they tried to get the optics working again. They still had their comm systems on, broadcasting their voices out the speakers in the mouth.

“No I don’t know where he got to!” Monzo snapped. “You’re supposed to be redirecting energy-gone or whatever it’s called into the eyes to fix them. He’s probably miles away by now...”  
“Hey! Someone’s hacking the system,” said Brisko. “It’s him! Tactile sensors confirm an Autobot on the unit’s back.”

“Shut him down,” Monzo said. “I’ll deploy countermeasures. Get me a fix on... hey! Did you leave the comm. channel open?”

“Aw, sh...” was as much as I heard before the loudspeakers went dead. A second later my access to Slog’s brain was denied.

And my second program kicked in. Those humans may have built themselves a cockpit into this thing, a feat that would have required the best engineering minds on this planet. I wondered if that cockpit worked in both modes?

Slog began to transform. Thousands of moving parts went into action, and parts big and small shifted and flowed into new configurations. It was fascinating to see it happen on this scale. But not so much fun to be standing on the bot in question while it was happening.

And no doubt terrifying when witnessed from the inside!

I leapt off and glided away. Well, almost. A large chunk of metal that was becoming an arm caught me in the right wing and sent me spinning. I grazed what had almost reconfigured into a leg, and a second later I hit the dirt and slid halfway around the planet. Or so it felt.

It occurred to me that I might have killed those soft-skinned idiots. Heh, no great loss to me, as long as Optimus Prime doesn’t find out. When I rolled over and looked up, however, I saw that my conscience was clear. They were sailing down to Earth on chutes built into their chairs - probably some safety protocol to eject them in case of emergency. I stood, and headed in the direction they were descending. We had a lot to talk about, them and I.

Behind me, Slog loomed in robot mode, silent and still.

While following the pink-skinned punks, I had a chance to sift through the data I’d gleaned from Slog’s mind. Some interesting stuff. Some confusing stuff. The situation at Chichen Itza was worse than I’d thought. Worse than any of us had thought.

Monzo and Brisko started firing tiny but really hot pellets at me. I’d had about enough of their tom-foolery, so I raised my former officer’s blaster and shot up their chutes. They were low enough now that the fall wouldn’t kill them, but it would shake them up a lot.

Except they’d been right over one of the sinkholes when I shot them.

Oops.

I hurried over to the hole I’d dropped them into, my wings flapping in the air around my legs.

 

An hour later I made it to the road - the one I’d tried to land near in the first place. Far behind me, Slog still stood dominating the horizon.

The humans had survived, and had been most informative when I offered to rescue them from that hole (and not kill them). I left them to try and figure out how to transform and re-board their beastie. They’d asked me to do it for them, in exchange for a ride to Chichen Itza. Seems that’s the place all of us are going. I told them no chance - they’d be just as likely to make the situation worse for my fellow Autobots instead of better.

Besides, there was no way I’d ever ride on the back of some monster. I’d just as soon walk on the surface of Unicron, thank you very much.

A terran vehicle came along. I stood right in their path but the two occupants didn’t see me; their focus was on Slog. They weren’t going that fast; I guess they wanted a good long look. I raised a foot and brought the vehicle to a (mostly) gentle stop, at which point they became very much aware of my presence. 

I ignored them and the language they screamed in and scanned their vehicle. It wasn’t much to look at, and I could sure do a lot better, but the pickings were slim and I needed an Earth disguise. Plus, it was more or less my current size and mass. It would do for now, until I found something a bit flashier.

And Slugger’s wings? Still stuck to me, but useless for flying now. Still, I liked the way they hung around me. Kind of like a garment an organic creature might wear. I could get used to it.

The humans kept up their yelling, abandoning their vehicle and running back the way they had driven. These were the life forms Prime wanted us to protect? Give me a break.

I turned around, transformed and drove off in the direction of Chichen Itza. Hold on, Hound. Stay sharp, Sureshot. Peace out, Prime. You need firepower?

You got me.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanfic lets you explain things that, in canon continuity, don't necessarily make sense. It seemed strange to me that Crosshairs had a 'coat' in Age of Extinction, so I decided to create its origin. And then when I needed a chapter title... well, there you go. He hasn't found his AoE car mode yet - I just didn't think he'd encounter a sports car like that out in the wilds of Mexico. Maybe next time - Crosshairs will return in my next Merc vs. Metal story, which picks up more or less where this one leaves off.


End file.
